


Not What it Seems

by Nerissa



Category: Wizards of Waverly Place
Genre: F/M, Implied Incest, Kind of meta, Reference to Drug Use, Strong Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-31
Updated: 2011-08-31
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nerissa/pseuds/Nerissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Justin knows something's not right; now he needs to make sure Alex knows it, too. Being Alex, she takes some convincing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not What it Seems

**Author's Note:**

> After watching Justin's Back In, the almost-moments between them were too much for me to ignore. I wondered if Justin felt the same way.

Alex fidgeted outside the bathroom door, waiting for her brother to finish washing his hands or flossing his teeth or tweezing his nose hairs, or whatever the hell it was he did in there when he could have been doing something actually important, and not being so, you know, _Justin_.

"Come on, Justin, hurry up," she said, after knocking on the door for the fifth time. "Mom and Dad have some kind of big thing going on downstairs and they wanted us down there like, five minutes ago. If you take any longer it might give them time to wonder where I got the—what are you _doing_?"

The door had opened, his hand closed around her wrist and he dragged her into the bathroom.

"Justin, what the hell!"

"I need to talk to you."

"In the BATHROOM?"

"It's pretty much the only place I think they can't see us. Well, except for maybe once. But that was four years ago. Still," he tugged her toward the tub, nervous, "stay away from the mirror. Just in case."

"Ohmygod, Justin, 'they'? Is this about the aliens, again? Because if it is, I am personally mortified to be your sister."

"No! At least, I don't think so. It isn't—" he turned and tried to pace, only to crack his knee against the toilet. "Fuck!" he howled, and collapsed to the toilet seat, clutching his knee and hissing in pain.

That got her attention. Justin didn't swear. He allowed himself one 'hell' and two 'damns' per month, and was proud every time he failed to reach his limit ("Cursing is unimaginative. It is shock talk, Alex. It is lazy language. I am not lazy." To which, of course, she had replied "fuck you, dickhead" and enjoyed the sight of him turning magenta).

But now . . . 

"Justin. What's wrong?"

He hissed in answer, and squeezed his knee. She waited. Some lazy people were sometimes good at waiting.

"Justin?" she prompted. Okay, so maybe Alex wasn't one of those people.

"It— ow," he probed his knee gingerly. "I hope I didn't fracture the—"

"JUSTIN."

"Yeah, okay, sorry. Look. I just . . . don't you feel it?"

"What, your knee? Yeah, okay, I am totally gonna cop a feel of your—"

"No! Not my knee. Which, by the way," he rolled up his pant leg, "yup, okay, that is a definite bruise forming."

"Eeew. Justin, put your knee away. If that isn't what you mean, then what?"

"I mean, every time we . . . every time I try to . . . not that I actually TRY to.. ."

"Spit it out, Susie Stutters."

"When was the last time I did THIS?" he asked, and grabbed her by the hand.

"Um, counting the time you did it like five seconds ago to drag me in here?"

"Okay, that, but . . . I mean, really. Didn't I used to? A lot? More?"

She squirmed.

"Justin, I don't want to think about—"

"Sure you don't! Because THEY don't want you to."

"Justin, who the hell is this 'they' you keep on—"

"I don't know! I don't . . . I don't know. Maybe you're right. Maybe I'm crazy. But every time I start to do something . . . every time I'm going to do something that . . . I don't know. Something. Something . . . stops me. Every time I want to touch you or hug you, or just . . . I don't know."

His hand smoothed down the length of her arm, a wave of warm weight trailing cool space in its wake. Alex sucked in her breath, and raised her eyes to his. He smiled sadly.

"You see?" he said. "When was the last time I did that?"

"I—" she faltered. "You've never done that. Have you?"

"Maybe I haven't," he said, and sat back against the toilet. "Or maybe that's just what they want you to think. I don't know, Alex. I don't know anything, anymore. I used to be so in control of myself. I used to know who I was, who I was going to be. Lately it's like my whole body's been just taken over by some manic, screeching . . . "

"Dickwad?"

"Erm," he coughed. "Uhm. I was going to say 'baboon' but—"

Alex thought of everything her brother had done over the past several months. Everything that had driven her to bed in tears, her heart breaking over a loss she couldn't even understand, let alone articulate. She pinched her mouth together.

"Trust me," she said, "dickwad works better."

"Right," he sighed. "I guess you'd know."

"So," she said, "I'm not saying I believe you, exactly, but . . . who are they?"

He shrugged.

"I told you. I don't know. Maybe they aren't even real. Maybe WE aren't even real."

"Shit, Justin, are you HIGH?" She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling. "Ohmygod you ARE, aren't you? I didn't think I'd ever see you high again."

"Alex, I am NOT—wait, again?"

"Oh, yeah," she belatedly remembered the memory tweak she'd applied after finally successfully reuniting his college self with his high school self. "Uh, never mind. But, yeah. You're high, right?"

"Alex, I am NOT high. I would never get high."

"Give it a year or two," she advised. Then, under the heat of his bewildered stare, quickly steered the conversation back on track. "But I mean, listen to yourself! We aren't even real? Duh!" she slapped his wounded knee, and smirked as he flinched. "Felt real enough, didn't it?"

"I didn't mean . . ." he blinked, confused. "Of course we're real," he said, but more to himself than to her. "I . . . of course we are."

Alex watched him. He had that cute wrinkle-faced thing he always got when he wasn't sure of himself but didn't want to admit it. She loved that look. She missed that look.

Funny, how things work. Because on seeing that look, on remembering how much she loved it, and how much she missed it, Alex finally saw what he was trying to say.

She saw how long it had been since she last looked at him for more than two seconds without feeling the strange, itching compulsion to quickly avert her eyes. She saw how long it had been since he put his arm around her, since she slipped her arms around his waist and beamed up at him as though, for just a second, he weren't the grossest thing ever—except for Max, of course.

But Max wasn't gross like Justin was gross. Justin's gross was different. Special.

Less smelly.

She reached over to cover his knee with her hand. He flinched in anticipation, but when she did not squeeze, he calmed. Then he covered her hand with his, and looked at her. The raw, empty pain in his face had nothing to do with his knee.

Her heart beat faster.

"Alex," he said. "I don't even know what . . . I don't KNOW."

Justin hated not knowing. Alex felt rage settle in her stomach; fury at 'them' and how they had turned him into this. Whether or not 'they' existed, Justin thought they did, and right now that was more than enough to piss her off . . . and make her want to fix it.

She wasn't supposed to be this person. Reassuring her brother was not who she was. It wasn't what she did. Not even close. But he was right; they hadn't been themselves in months. Maybe even years.

"I don't, either," she said truthfully. "I don't know. But I do know this. If there IS a 'they'? Then God help 'em when I get my hands on them. They think they can mess with us? They don't know us at all."

His smile was weak, but genuine.

"Kind of my point," he said. She rolled her eyes, whacked his knee, and he howled. "JAY-zuz!" he hissed, and clutched it again.

She laughed; that terrifying, blood-curdling laugh that he knew he'd rather suffer a thousand shattered kneecaps than miss hearing altogether.

"Well," she said, slipping off the edge of the tub to settle on the tiled floor, "'them' or no 'them' . . . 'they' aren't our problem right now." She slipped her wand out of her boot, and trailed a gentle curve of sparkles through the air. "If this is the only place we're safe from them, and they won't GIVE us time? Fuck 'em. Let's take all the time we need."

They weren't just late getting downstairs. They were Alex-late.

But nobody noticed.


End file.
